


Should Have Done This Sooner

by woodwind



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anal Fisting, Anal Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexual Content, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-25
Updated: 2016-03-25
Packaged: 2018-05-29 01:40:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6353770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/woodwind/pseuds/woodwind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Never in his wildest, most debauched dreams would Dorian have ever imagined this. Written for the DA kink meme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Should Have Done This Sooner

**Author's Note:**

> Seriously, read the tags.

Never in his wildest, most debauched dreams would Dorian have ever imagined this.

Here he is with his hand down Solas' trousers, fingers curled around his cock, pumping it in small, precise jerks, as Solas moans into the collar of Dorian's robe. This had started innocently enough; Dorian had invited Solas to his quarters for a discussion on an old tome, with no other intentions involved. The discussion was enlightening, and while Dorian watched the movement of Solas' mouth (too luscious for his own good, Dorian thought) he had simply...leaned over, pressed their lips together in a sudden fit of desire, and now he had the other mage up against the wall, jerking him off through his pants.

He feels Solas push his tongue past his lips, curling behind his teeth, his hands carding through Dorian's hair. Maker, he's a good kisser. Moaning into the kiss, Dorian mentally curses himself for never discovering this sooner, for mistaking Solas' modesty for prudishness, curses again when Solas dips his head to lick the line of his jaw.

"Perhaps we should move to the bed," Solas suggests, his voice gone raw, almost a growl, making Dorian's knees quiver even as he moves to oblige. They stumble with little grace towards it, tucked into the corner, piled high with luxuriant pillows which have began to fade from the sunlight pouring in through a far window. They fall onto it with even less grace, hands all over each other, snaking beneath clothing, unclasping belts, bitten off moans and sighs of pleasure as more skin is revealed.

Dorian stretches out against the blankets, knees popping. Solas running his hands down his chest, fingers fluttering against his ribs, the jut of his hipbones. They kiss lazily for a few moments, Dorian returning the curious touches, down his back, around his waist.

Dorian pulls away, suddenly awkward.

"So -" Dorian begins, his throat dry, "How far do you want to take this, Solas?"

Slow, lazy blink, an equally lazy smile tugging at his lips, still flushed from their kisses. "I have something specific in mind. Something you...may not have experience in. I won't pressure you into it.”

"Go on," Dorian urges, hands returning to stroke down Solas' back, delighting at the smoothness of his skin, the freckles along his shoulders. He returns to nip at the pale length of his throat, "you can tell me," he says against it, feels his heart drop clear to his stomach when Solas _moans._

"Fuck me with your hand," he breathes, a little shakily, stretching his whole body against him, rutting hard against his thigh.

Dorian's eyes nearly bug out of his head, taking a moment to restrain the surprise in his voice.

"Solas," he begins, chuckling warmly into the shell of his ear, his hands rubbing up and down his back, "I had no idea. Are you certain?"

Solas sits up, and Dorian is momentarily dazzled by the smooth expanse of his skin, the delightful flush of pink down his chest. Beneath that awful tunic, Solas is toned and tight as a whip, reminding him briefly of a statue he saw once, all elegant lines and smooth angles. Dorian has to swallow the saliva pooled in his mouth. The weight of him is heavy in his lap.

“I have done it before,” he begins, suddenly serious. “But it was some time ago. I have tried,” he blushes, and isn’t it cute, he’s biting his lip, but Dorian says nothing of it, “to replicate the sensation myself; it was unsuccessful.”

“I see,” Dorian rubs his thumbs along the sharp angle of Solas’ hips, eyes trailing down to his half-hard cock, licking his lips. “The most I’ve managed is four fingers in another man, never my whole hand. I’m curious, though. I don’t want to hurt you. You’ll have to tell me if it’s too much.”

“Of course,” Solas agrees, voice gone rough again, leaning down to bite Dorian’s lower lip, “I trust you will tell me if you become uncomfortable, as well. Shall we get started?”

Dorian rolls them over with less agility than he’d like, knocking a few pillows to the floor. He kisses Solas again, sucking his tongue, his stomach doing little flips as Solas wraps his legs around Dorian’s waist.

“Gonna suck your cock first,” Dorian whispers between kisses, heart swelling with pride as Solas draws a breath between his teeth, “get you nice and hard.”

He wastes little time sliding down Solas’ body, spreading his knees, taking a moment to lick the line of his abdomen or rake his nails across his nipples. “A pretty cock, too,” Dorian says more to himself, groans unabashedly when Solas tugs hard at the roots of his hair.

It is pretty, Dorian thinks, with its generous curve and pink head, wraps his hand around it to draw the foreskin down, licks the sensitive underside before sucking it between his lips. The moan it pulls from Solas is absolutely pornographic, sending a rush of adrenaline to Dorian’s head as he sucks more cock into his mouth, swirls his tongue around and around, pulling back up with a firm tug of his lips.

“Oh, Dorian, _yes_ ,” Solas whimpers, hips straining down into the blankets. “Suck me, yes, yes, just like that..!”

Dorian quirks an eyebrow, “Giving orders, are we?” Rather than wait for an answer, he plunges his tongue into the slit, lapping hungrily at the moisture there, before lowering his head and sucking again. It takes a few pumps of his wrist, a considerate coating of spit, but he manages to slide all the way past his tonsils, swallowing reflexively as he goes. 

Solas chants something, breathlessly, one hand in a death grip in Dorian’s hair, the other grasping the pillow beneath his head so hard Dorian can hear the threads coming loose. Dorian continues to suck, remembering to drag the flat of his tongue against the underside, the way slickened with enough saliva that he can hear the wet slurping noise he makes with every upward stroke. 

He glances up to see Solas has thrown his head back, the bump of his adam’s apple bobbing as he pants, and though Dorian doesn’t understand everything he’s saying, it’s clear he’s begging, which ratchets his heartbeat higher, to think a man so composed and serious is letting him do this, to see him open and unashamed.

Around his head, Solas’ thighs begin to shake. “Stop,” he says, fingers curling beneath Dorian’s jaw. “Too good. Fenedhis, you’re good. But I do not wish to finish just yet.”

Dorian nods, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He sprawls beside the other man, angling his head to kiss him again. He bites his cheek when Solas takes his cock, palms calloused, wrestles with the urge to thrust his hips into the feeling. “I’ve been told that,” he tries to laugh, which comes out more like a breathy gasp.

Solas only hums in way of reply, thumbs the head of Dorian’s arousal, flicking his tongue in and out of his mouth. “You have oil, yes?”

Dorian nods dumbly, drawing his lips away from his teeth when that same hand cups warmly against his balls. “Ah, yes, the drawer - the green bottle.”

He watches the smooth expanse of Solas’ back strain when he reaches for the drawer, fascinated by the effortless pull of muscle beneath pale skin. He leans forward to drag his mouth over his shoulder blades, up his nape, taking the flesh between his teeth, both hands smoothing up Solas’ chest to thumb at his nipples.

Whether an instinct or on purpose, Dorian feels Solas press back against his cock, his length momentarily sliding between his ass and up the small of his back, and Dorian all but shoves his hips forward, sparking a jolt of pleasure clean into his skull.

“Oh,” is the only response he hears, as the rest is a series of little moans and gasps, as Dorian rocks his hips again, grinding their bodies together, somehow possessing enough sense in his lust-addled brain to take the bottle of oil from Solas’ hand, dumping it over his fingers, sliding them down Solas’ spine before pressing one, ever so gently, into his hole.

He feels the other man’s toes curl against his calves. “Yes,” Solas hisses, eyes fluttering shut. His thighs spread, so much that Dorian has to sit up on his elbows to accommodate, sinking his finger into the knuckle. It’s not as tight as he’d expected, but it will still take coaxing and possibly the entire bottle of oil to do this; Dorian is nothing if not determined, however, so he grits his teeth, pours more oil onto his index finger, and eases that in, too.

“How many times have you done this yourself?” He asks, throat drier than he’d like to admit. “How often do you fuck yourself with your fingers, Solas?”

It takes a moment for a reply between the noises he makes, no less reedy or desperate when he does. “Often enough,” is all he can manage. A muscle in Dorian’s clenched jaw ticks, as he imagines Solas spread out in a bedroll at camp, trousers tangled around his knees as he pumps his fingers inside of himself, much like Dorian is doing now.

“Would like to see it sometime,” Dorian grins, withdrawing his fingers in a screwing motion, rubbing them soothingly over Solas’ opening, spreading more oil around it. Solas moans but says nothing, arms wrapped around the pillow, rubbing his cock between his belly and the sheets. Dorian swallows the knot in his throat, fights the urge to sink himself to the balls in the other’s body until they go hoarse from the screaming.

_Focus, Pavus._

“Going to try three fingers. Are you still..?”

Solas nods. “As long as you are still certain.”

Dorian pours more oil into his palm, dribbling some of it over the swell of Solas’ ass, drawing a sharp breath as the muscles clench deliciously beneath his hand. “Do tell me if you want to replace that horrible tunic. It’s a shame you hide an ass like this beneath those...rags.”

Solas snorts dismissively.

“I would like you to turn over, however,” Dorian continues. “I want to see your face.”

Solas does so, his legs quivering, his cock springing up towards his navel as he lies down, repositioning a few pillows beneath his hips. “Better?”

“Much,” Dorian smiles, leaning down to kiss the other’s stomach, surprised by his own sudden tenderness. Rather than think on it, or look to watch Solas’ reaction, he takes the bottle again, dipping its contents into his palm.

Rubbing the oil between his fingers, making sure to coat them evenly, Dorian draws them together into a point, sliding them a few times across the other’s opening to slick it. He does this a few more times, listening to Solas’ breath grow more shallow, as the flush on his face spreads down to his neck, across his shoulders, illuminating the freckles there in a way that shouldn’t be as charming as it is.

Dorian’s own face feels like it’s going to melt off, or his heart will simply bludgeon its way through his chest, his cock solid between his clenched thighs. He wishes desperately for some contact, more used to being on the receiving end of pleasure; he steels his will, takes a breath, and slowly, carefully, slides the points of all three fingers past the rim, watching as Solas’ shoulders tense, before he relaxes, even lifts his hips up to encourage his fingers to slip in further.

The second knuckle pops in with little resistance. “Mmm,” Dorian hums absently, his other hand parting the other man’s thighs, “You look good like this, all spread out for me. Can’t wait to see you come.”

The sound Solas makes is close to a sob, drawn out into soft little “oh”s of pleasure as Dorian pumps his fingers. There’s a wet noise as he slicks more oil onto his hand, growing wetter as he begins to press a fourth finger inside, his thumb curled down against the part of Solas’ ass. He watches Solas clench his lower lip between his teeth, as his nostrils flare with the intake of his breath, no signs of pain, only pleasure.

Encouraged, Dorian pushes his hand further, feeling the muscles clench momentarily before loosening again, biting his own lip at the thought of fucking him with his cock instead of his hand, how _good_ it would feel, what Solas’ voice would sound like then. He keeps his hand still, however, carefully curling his fingers down, mentally cheering when it brushes Solas’ prostate.

“Fuck,” Solas rasps, hips jumping suddenly, one hand going from the pillow to grasp Dorian’s wrist. “Fuck, Dorian, there, do that again, please...”

That single point of contact, the desperation in his voice nearly makes him come then and there. His balls are drawn tight to his body, the head of his cock throbbing almost painfully. He groans in reply, pressing more insistently on that little bump, hard, quick strokes, the oil squelching obscenely with each movement of his hand.

Without thinking, Dorian presses his free thumb between Solas’ lips, a voice not like his own ordering “suck,” that same voice melting into a rattling moan when Solas does just that, hollows his cheeks and slurps noisily as if it’s Dorian’s cock in his mouth, not his finger. That image has Dorian cursing creatively in Tevene, vows to see it happen if Solas is willing, and Maker, he hopes he is once this is over.

“More?”

Solas lets go of his thumb as if to speak, can’t, only nods.

There’s a visible tremor in Dorian’s arms when he slops even more oil over his hand, his wrist, watching as it drips between Solas’ spread thighs and along his testicles, clenched tight. Already so close, and Dorian still has more left.

“Alright,” Dorian affirms. By now, more than half of the oil is gone; he adds more anyway, uncaring about spilling it on the expensive bedding. He withdraws his hand far enough to curl his thumb into his palm, takes a breath, and pushes his hand forward.

He swears he sees the moment when Solas’ mind goes blank from the pleasure, sees it in his parted lips, his furrowed brow, the corded muscles of his neck. He actually whines, whispers something like Dorian’s name between it, his toes curling in the sheets at the same time Dorian eases more of his hand inside, until Solas is stretched around his wrist.

“Gonna make you come like this,” Dorian rattles, flexing his wrist just to watch how Solas writhes against the bed. “Just my hand, fucking you just like you wanted.” Solas has both lips between his teeth now, grunting shamelessly as Dorian eases his wrist out, then further in.

“Maker, Forgotten Ones, fuck,” Here he is, kneeling on his bed, with _Solas_ moaning his name, as _Solas_ practically fucks himself on his fist, hips rising and falling in uneven thrusts; Dorian swears again that he’d never have imagined this, yet here it is.

“Dorian,” he gasps, eyes unfocused as they meet his own. “Touch yourself. Let me see. Fuck me with your hand and touch yourself until you come. Please.”

To his own credit, Dorian thinks, he tries to be gentle after that, but he can’t, not when Solas gasps something like please and more, almost shouts it. All reasonable thought has flown out his ears at this point, and Dorian growls, before fucking him with his fist in earnest, uncaring of whom may hear, and it takes only seconds of this before Solas is coming in one long release, so hard it shoots up his flushed, heaving chest, before two more follow suit.

Dorian doesn’t even remember coming. His mind simply goes blank, his ears ringing, burned from the inside out like a star or some other cliche nonsense he can’t compare it to in the aftermath. He barely possesses enough coherent thought to remember to be gentle when he pulls his hand out, first the wrist, then the knuckles, then the fingers.

He collapses, half of his body against the bed, the other against Solas, arms numb, head fuzzy, thighs still twitching with the force of his orgasm. 

“Andraste’s fucking flaming tits.” 

That, unexpectedly, makes Solas laugh, though it’s weak from the dryness of his throat.

“Indeed. That was...more than I had hoped for. Much more.”

“Mmm,” Dorian wraps his arms around Solas’ neck, almost thinks the better of it, almost pulls away; then, Solas returns the embrace, palms flat against the expanse of Dorian’s back, slick as it is with sweat.

“If I had known inviting you to my quarters would have ended like this, I would have done it ages ago. Just so we’re clear.”

Solas rubs soothing patterns into Dorian’s skin. “I would not mind being invited back. Sooner rather than later.”

Dorian smiles sleepily. “That sounds marvelous.”

They both fall asleep soon after that.


End file.
